


A Day at the Beach

by SophiaCatherine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (well as fluffy as these two get), Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine
Summary: In hindsight, Len could see where he went wrong.He let Mick fucking Rory take him to the beach.





	A Day at the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from @kleptoandpyro over on tumblr: "Do you find this amusing, fuck-face?"
> 
> Note: Apparently the term ‘to paddle’ (meaning ‘to splash about in shallow water in bare feet’) is a British-ism, but I can't find a better one. It’s a childish word, suggesting rolling up your socks and getting wet like a delighted kid. And now you know.

In hindsight, Len could see where he went wrong.

He let Mick fucking Rory take him to the beach.

He clutched his ice cream cone and muttered to himself, sweating awkwardly under the darkest sun umbrella he could steal.

If nothing else, the beach was a hub of opportunity, a haven for ingenuous families all going out swimming at once and leaving a big pile of cellphones and wallets under a blanket. He’d felt fully entitled to that reward. Along with four other credulous people’s stuff.

“Take your parka off,” Mick suggested.

Mick was basking in his stripy beach chair, head lolling back in the sunshine, looking faintly ridiculous in his bright patterned shirt. Looking like he  _fit_.

Len burrowed further into his parka and glowered.

There had been many arguments about the plan to lay low at the  _beach_ , after Len’s break-out from Iron Heights.

“We’re  _super-villains_  now, Mick,” Len had said, staring him down under unimpressed eyebrows. “We could be recognised.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Boss,” Mick had countered. “We’re small-time, city-level super-villains, at most. They’ve never heard of us in Coast City.”

They had heard of them in Coast City.

A gaggle of passing tourists demanded autographs. Some teenagers stared, possibly mocked, Len wasn’t sure. A mother brought her small son over, who was clinging to a knockoff Captain Cold figure that he presented mutely to Len. “That’s… very nice…” Len attempted. The mother beamed a grateful, encouraging smile. Len waited for them to go away.

When the gawkers finally got the message, largely because Len’s face was starting to communicate less  _comic book super-villain_  and more  _mob boss who is not opposed to killing you_ , Len turned an icy scowl on Mick. “I suppose,” he drawled out, “this is amusing to you, asshole?”

Mick shrugged, just kept on eating his fourth hotdog. He’d made a friend of the guy who was running the beach barbecue, who turned out to be a part-time arsonist and huge Mick Rory fan. “Hilarious,” he replied, turning his head awkwardly to smirk at him. “You need to learn to  _relax_ ,” he says, imitating Len’s drawl. Badly.

Len rolled his eyes. “That’s all I do.”

Waving dismissively, Mick said, “I don’t mean run-around-the-city-with-the-Flash-on-your-tail relax. I mean slow down. Get some of that adrenaline out of your system. Stop counting seconds.”

Len stared out at the open water. Six people in the water, a lifeguard watching them through attentive binoculars. A small coast guard boat skimming the shore. Ten feet away, an oblivious couple sucking each other’s faces. “I like counting seconds,” he said eventually.

“I know,” Mick sighed. He took another bite of the hotdog and kept talking through it. “We should do this more often. Hey, we could get Lisa to come down, make a week vacation of it. While we’re here.”

“No.” Len squirmed in his seat. “Who the hell takes a couple of planks of wood, throws some canvas over it and calls it a chair?”

Mick clapped him on the arm. “Aww, come on, Boss.”

“No.”

“I’ll buy you more ice cream.”

“ _No._ ”

They squelched off the beach towards the ice cream truck on the corner. Len stopped by a wall, shaking some of the _entire beach_  out of his shoes. “This is all _ridiculous_ ,” he called to Mick.

Standing in line behind a little cluster of absurdly happy people, Mick gave him a broad, satisfied grin.

Len leant against the wall. Cop car, three hundred feet away (two minutes thirty seconds) - not in range, but Len pulled his dark glasses over his face anyway. A group of student types, fifty feet away, phones peeking out of purses and pockets (forty-five seconds). Beach goods store opposite - the cashier stepping away from the desk for just a moment (one minute, in and out).

There was a motorbike ten feet away (three minutes, if the cops weren’t _right there_ ), locked up against the bike rack, glinting like gold in the sunlight. He could be absconding north on the I-5 in less than hour. Flying effortless, incognito, away from here. Away from Mick. Away from everything.

And there was an ice cream truck.

Len’s eyes stopped roaming the borderlands.

_His grandfather, old and tired, but sick of Lewis’s shit, pulling Len out for a day. Driving them to the coast. Cold in the truck, but bundled up in coats and blankets, while the alchemist mixed a dozen flavours of soft, sweet ice cream into magical combinations, pouring them into three cones, all for him. Savouring every rare bite. Gazing out over a rough, murky sea. The cold wind clearing the beach of everyone but them. Stumbling down through sand dunes. Laughing, ducking in and out of the oncoming tide. Quiet, empty water, and his grandfather’s arm tight around him, sheltering him from the wind. Like he’d never let go._

Mick was at the front of the line now, grunting at the guy inside. He turned back towards Len, yelled “Whaddaya want?”

Len gazed out at the teeming beach. “Anything in a cone,” he called back.

As they walked back towards the edge of the water, Mick said, “Wanna paddle? Bet a city boy like you never dodged the tide before.”

He took off his boots and his parka. And then, yeah, Captain Cold fucking  _paddled_. Just to show Mick he knew how, of course.

He also pushed Mick in, of course.

The beach was starting to clear as they trudged back to their chairs. “I’m not saying you’re  _right_ ,” he said, squashing himself into the cursed recliner, “but…” He trailed off for a minute, the golden sunset catching his attention. “You can call Lisa.”

Mick laughed. Then he sat back in his chair, suddenly regarding Len in a way that almost made him nervous. “You think maybe it’s time for something - new?” he said, out of nowhere.

Len raised an eyebrow. “Always up for a challenge,” he said. “Anything in mind?”

Mick closed his eyes, taking in the last of the afternoon sun. “Dunno,” he said. “Something’ll find us.” He opened one eye and looked at Len. “Vacation first.”

“Vacation,” Len agreed, with a sigh. 

If he sounded a little more reluctant than he was, Mick didn’t need to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: food.
> 
> Comments very welcome. I always reply!
> 
> On tumblr [here](https://sophiainspace.tumblr.com/).


End file.
